Derek sat up. He opened the glistening plastic bottle of cold water and he drank and drank. “I love you for this,” he whispered. “I’ve had no water in days and nights.”

“I know. I’ve put water for you in the refrigerator. I’ve hidden several bottles under the bed. And I brought you this too.”

It was an apple, a bright red apple. Derek took it without a word and devoured it down to the core and then swallowed the seeds and the stem. How fresh and sweet it tasted. He lay back staring at the ceiling. So sweet. He saw the endless fruit trees of Atalantaya, the yellow and orange fruit. You could pick the fruit anywhere at any time. But don’t think about it lest this creature, good as he is, can read your mind.

Arion sat there staring off. He was dressed simply in a sweatshirt and jeans and an old leather jacket with shiny worn elbows. He had none of the elegance of Roland, none of the vanity, none of the preoccupation with subtle ornament. He looked sad, so terribly sad.

“Take what you want from me,” said Derek. “I’d beg you to let me out of here but I know you can’t.”

Arion smiled, but not at Derek. Then he removed something small from his pocket. An iPod. It had to be, though Derek hadn’t seen one in years. It had a thin white cord attached and an earpiece.

“Wait till morning,” he said, “when you’re sure all are sleeping, and then listen to this thing. It’s stocked with music and archived radio broadcasts.”

Oh, this was a treasure!

Derek accepted the device gratefully and tried to figure it out but unlike his last iPod, his iPod of ten long years ago, this one was a flat piece of glass.

With a few quick taps, Arion brought it to life. Derek followed his fingers, and heard a surge of music, a surge of mingled voices. He put the white earbud in his ear, and heard the throaty voice of the woman singing a song he’d known and loved, “Undercover Agent for the Blues.”

“Tina!” he whispered. Oh, this was priceless. This was too wondrous. This was like a magic portal out of his despicable prison.

He bent forward and put his arm around Arion and kissed his cold face. Like stone, it felt, so smooth, as if it were polished stone. They all felt that way, these blood drinkers.

“Now look here, pay attention,” said Arion. “I’m going to show you how to find one particular radio archive.”

“How will this radio archive help me?” Derek asked.

Arion sat there silent for a moment, pondering, his brows knitted and the iPod held idly in his hand.

“I don’t know,” Arion said. “But it’s our radio, our broadcast….”

“I’ve heard of this before. From the Court, the Court of the Prince.”